


Eggclesial

by Rebelwerewolf



Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Beads, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole Church, Church Sex, Easter, Eggs, Family Drama, Felching, Homophobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebelwerewolf/pseuds/Rebelwerewolf
Summary: Ben and Armitage attend church on Easter Sunday. Church angst plus eggs. Cracky and eggsplicit. Way longer than eggspected.





	1. Easter

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as this drabble for Kylux Cantina: <https://rebelwerewolf.tumblr.com/post/159118041368/kylo-spots-by-chance-the-ancient-sith-symbol-as-a>

“Whyyy?” Ben whined plaintively with a pout. Armitage, already dressed in a sky blue shirt and skinny tie, stood next to the bed, shaking him awake. Weekends, in Ben’s opinion, were for sleeping in, but for some incomprehensible reason, Armitage was making Ben accompany him to church on Easter Sunday. “It’s so early,” Ben groused, flopping back down on the bed dramatically and throwing the comforter over his head.

“Because,” said Armitage, peeling the comforter back to reveal Ben, squinting miserably in the morning sunlight. “Brendol and his wife expect me there.”

Ben had always found it strange that Armitage called his father by his first name. “You don’t like them or their church,” he protested. “You told me they were a bunch of conservative bigots.”

“They are,” Armitage agreed with a small shrug. “But it’s pretty much our unspoken agreement that if I spend Easter and Christmas with them, they’ll leave me alone the rest of the year.”

“Well they don’t expect _me_ there.” He tried to give Armitage the puppy-dog eyes, peering up at him through his long lashes and doing a sad little frown. It didn’t work.

Armitage took a deep, annoyed breath. “We’ve been over this before. They always try to set me up with every eligible woman at their church. They don’t believe I’m gay, so we’re going to prove it to them.”

Ben’s expression changed to a leer. He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How are we going to prove it? They like to watch?”

“Ew. That’s fucking gross.” Armitage slapped a long-fingered hand over his face and shook his head exasperatedly before disappearing from their bedroom. “We leave at 8:30 sharp. Get showered and dressed, or I will drag you there in your pajamas!” he called from the hallway.

Ben emerged from their room with several minutes to spare and happily noticed Armitage trying to conceal the shocked expression on his face. Ben was usually scruffy and unwashed. Somehow Armitage tolerated him lounging around their home (actually Armitage’s home, but Ben had moved in three months ago) wearing only boxers and eating junk food. Today, though, he had showered, shaved, and tied his hair back into a bun. He wore a crisp white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki slacks, and a salmon vest that he only owned because he had been a groomsman at Poe and Finn’s wedding.

“Wow,” said Armitage. “Apparently we should go to church more often.”

Ben smirked and leaned in to whisper, “You won’t be saying that after today.” Armitage had no idea what lay hidden under Ben’s appropriate and polished exterior.

Armitage shuddered involuntarily but still chastised, “I expect you to behave yourself. Please don’t embarrass me.”

The drive to church was a cram session about Brendol and his wife Madeline. Armitage warned that Madeline was young, as close to their age as she was to Brendol’s, but not to remark on her age or the scar on her face. Ben was to address them as “Dr. Hux” and “Mrs. Hux”. Madeline would probably ask him to call her by her first name. Brendol would almost certainly not.

“Do they know that I’m your boyfriend?” Ben asked. Armitage inhaled sharply but didn’t reply. “Babe?” Ben asked after a few moments of silence.

“Maybe.”

“Um, what exactly have you told them about me?” Silence again. This time, Ben waited.

When Armitage finally spoke, the words came tumbling out like water from a broken dam. “Look, Brendol hates gay people. He blames us all for my mom leaving him, never mind that it was 35 years ago, and she probably left because he was — and still is — an asshole. He didn’t accept me being gay when I first came out in high school, and he doesn’t accept it now. He thinks that if he prays hard enough, I’ll be the heterosexual son he deserves.” Armitage was practically spitting in anger by the end of his last sentence.

Ben kept his eyes plastered to the road and didn’t push the conversation further. He felt conflicted about whether to stick with his original plan but concluded that there was plenty of time to assess the situation and make a decision later.

“Church hasn’t even started, and it’s already awful,” Ben grumbled. There were far more people than he had ever imagined would be interested in waking up early on a Sunday. So many, in fact, that the church lot was already full when they arrived. Ben had to park in the lot of the office complex down the street. He hadn’t expected to have to walk this far and was already starting to feel uncomfortable in his rarely-worn patent leather shoes and the rest of his church attire.

Armitage fell awkwardly into step beside him. “There, there,” he said, patting Ben’s bicep reassuringly, “it only gets worse from here.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The church was less “historical cathedral” and more “suburban middle school”, with the exception of a giant cross on the roof. Crowds of people dressed in their Easter best were milling about on the lawn in front of the church’s double doors. Ben and Armitage waded through them and were greeted at the door by a smiling young woman in her late teens or early twenties. “He is risen,” she chirped while handing them folded sheets of paper, as if that were a perfectly normal greeting. Maybe it was, and Ben just didn’t know, having been raised in a mostly agnostic family (with the exception of Uncle Luke, who adhered loosely to some combination of Eastern and New Age religions).

“Um… Bless you,” said Ben, unsure of whether there was a church-appropriate response. Armitage made a tiny noise but quickly slapped his hand over his mouth.

As soon as they entered the lobby, a broadly-built older man in a tweed suit approached them. He exchanged pleasantries with Armitage and then shook his hand. It wasn’t until Armitage motioned toward Ben that Ben realized the man was, in fact, Brendol Hux. Whatever happened to greeting your family with hugs?

Their coldly professional greeting aside, the two bore little family resemblance beyond their red hair. The elder Hux’s hair was streaked with grey, giving it the appearance of a concoction of cinnamon and sugar. His bushy beard was almost completely grey. Where Armitage was slender, his father was easily twice his width. Where Armitage was all toothy grins and eyes sparkling with mirth, his father had a furrowed, angry brow and looked like he had never heard a good joke in his life.

“Brendol, this is Ben. Ben, my father, Dr. Brendol Hux.” Armitage said in a stilted, forced voice. “And this is Brendol’s wife Madeline.” He gestured toward the dark-haired woman standing half a pace behind Dr. Hux. Her hair was short and feathered, a tousled look maintained with copious amounts of product. She wore heavy makeup, but Ben could still see the outline of the scar he was told not to mention on her cheek. It reminded him of his own scar, which led him to the uncomfortable realization that both Hux men seemed to share a similar taste in sexual partners, gender notwithstanding.

Ben extended his hand to Brendol, who gripped it just shy of painfully. “I’m Ben. I’m Armitage’s b—” Behind his father, Armitage was shaking his head and mouthing the word “no”. “—Basketball teammate,” Ben finished awkwardly. “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Hux.” He doubted Armitage had ever played a single game of basketball in his life. Brendol looked Ben straight in the eye and merely grunted, then let Ben’s hand drop.

Madeline’s handshake was limp and uncomfortably sweaty. “I’m Madeline, Brendol’s wife.” She had a smoker’s voice and a mild Southern accent. She gave an obviously fake smile. “No girlfriend yet, Armie?” she directed toward Armitage. Ben knew he hated being called that. When Armitage replied in the negative, she asked the same question of Ben.

“No, I’m actually g—” Another cautionary glance from Armitage. “—Going for my Ph.D. Which is very time-consuming. So I don’t have time to date.” Ben was a terrible liar and getting rather tired of it.

“Oooh, a doctor, just like my Brendol!” crooned Madeline. “There are lots of girls here looking to get their M-R-S degrees, if you know what I mean.” She gave an exaggerated wink. Ben suppressed the urge to shudder. “Armie, you better watch out, or Ben here will steal all your girlfriends.” She cackled at her own joke.

Ben was relieved when Brendol interrupted the conversation. “Service starts at 9:30. We’ll be sitting in our usual spot. Second row, the pew on the far right.” He addressed this to Armitage, then turned and walked away.

Ben watched Brendol clap a random young man on the back and greet him with, “Happy Easter, son!” Meanwhile, Madeline was chatting and laughing with a group of other middle-aged women. He felt a growing indignation on behalf of Armitage, who was treated like a stranger by his own family, though they were clearly capable of being pleasant to other people.

Armitage touched his elbow and said softly, “Don’t worry about it, love. I’m used to it.” Ben almost leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Armitage’s head on instinct, but he remembered at the last second where they were. Instead, he gritted his teeth and said nothing.

The room that the church service would be held in was enormous. Columns and rows of wooden benches — pews, Brendol had called them — were arranged facing the stage. Large speakers were mounted on the walls at regular intervals. The front of the room was a stage with several steps leading up to it. There was a podium with a microphone. Behind it were various musical instruments, including a piano, a drum set, and a variety of guitars. On the wall behind the stage was the main focal point of the room, an intricate carving of a man wrapped in cloth and nailed to a cross.

The church service was like nothing Ben had ever experienced, and he was fairly sure he never wanted to experience it again. It started with a call for everyone to bow their heads in prayer, which was fine until the crowd shouted “Amen!” and woke Ben from his nap. Then, a group of musicians took the stage and asked the audience (Ben knew there was a better word than “audience” but couldn’t remember it at the moment) to stand.

There weren’t many things about Armitage that Ben would describe as “straight”, but his posture was excellent. He stood like a statue while the rest of the crowd swayed, danced, and clapped to the music. Even though he didn’t know the words, Ben started to get into it, clapping along until he saw Armitage’s poisonous glare. He spent the rest of what he termed “the concert portion of the church service” staring down at his feet with his hands behind his back.

Finally, the actual sermon began. Ben writhed in his seat; it was uncomfortably hard. The pastor (or was a it a priest? Preacher?) asked everyone to follow along as he read a page from the Bible. Ben grabbed a Bible from a cubby attached to the back of the pew in front of him, but he couldn’t find the right page and gave up after a bit. He noticed that Armitage made no move to grab a Bible. On the far side of Armitage, both Brendol and Madeline had their own Bibles in front of them and were mouthing the words. Madeline had her hand clutched over her heart.

When the pastor again called for the audience to lower their heads for yet another prayer, Ben felt a sharp nudge in his ribs. “Get up,” Armitage hissed. Confused, Ben complied. Armitage stood and, motioning for Ben to follow, strode out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

“Where are we going?” asked Ben when they were back in the empty lobby. He was secretly relieved — in addition to the uncomfortable seat, his legs had started to cramp up.

“I know you probably think I’m being irrational and should give the church a chance,” Armitage explained, “but I’ve spent years giving them chances, and they’ve never given me one.”

“I… didn’t say anything,” said Ben, unsure of where the conversation was headed.

“Walk with me,” said Armitage, as if Ben had a choice other than standing around by himself in the lobby of a strange church. “Brendol and Madeline got married when I was 12. Before then, Brendol was tolerable, but after Madeline, he started coming here every weekend. And so when I spent my court-mandated one weekend per month with him, I also had to come here.”

They walked down a flight of stairs into the church basement. The walls were covered in cork boards, which were themselves covered in photos, posters, drawings, and letters. Armitage continued his story.

“I attended Sunday school down here. They taught all sorts of bullshit: that dinosaurs coexisted with humans and died during the Flood, that evolution was false, that you shouldn’t have your first kiss until your wedding day.” Armitage gave a cute little snort. “I had my first kiss at a church retreat when I was 15.”

“Who was it? Should I be jealous?” Ben asked with an amused grin.

“Phil Tarkin. His grandfather was the head pastor at the time. His father is the guy speaking on stage right now. They caught Phil watching gay porn a few months later, and he blamed the whole thing on me. I hated him for it then, but he was just trying to avoid getting sent off to a boarding school for delinquent kids. Didn’t work. They sent him anyway.”

Ben stopped grinning. “Wow. Fuck. That’s terrible.”

Armitage waved him off. “Things got better for him. We reconnected on Facebook a few years back. He’s in London now, living the gay dream.” He opened a heavy green door, waited for Ben to step inside, then closed the door behind them. “And here is where I had to attend counseling sessions where Brendol, Madeline, and Pastor Tarkin told me that I was going to Hell unless I stopped being gay. After six months, I ended up telling them some crap about Jesus changing my heart and pretended I had been ‘cured.’”

“Shit! Why do you even come back here? I would be like ‘Fuck this shit!’” Ben was close to yelling now. He banged his fist on a nearby table, sending several pencils clattering to the floor.

Armitage was silent for a very long time, running his fingers through his hair in thought.

Just when Ben had given up waiting for an answer and instead turned his attention to collecting the fallen pencils, Armitage spoke quietly. “You’re right. We shouldn’t have come here. Let’s go home.”

“Hold on,” said Ben with an impish smirk. “There’s something I want to do first.”

 


	2. Eggs

The lock on the single-stall, handicap-accessible bathroom door clicked into place with finality. They were really going to do this.

“Ben,” Armitage said urgently, “what if someone catches us?”

Ben was already unbuttoning his vest. “Relax, babe. Everyone’s still listening to the sermon. I locked the classroom door, and I also closed the fire door in the hallway.”

“Ah, so instead of being arrested as perverts, we’ll just die in an accidental fire. That is completely relaxing information.”

His vest and shirt fully unbuttoned to reveal the surprise underneath, Ben exaggerated the motion of removing his hair tie and shaking his shoulder-length mane loose. He watched Armitage’s reaction closely — first, his mouth parting with a look of shock, then the quick dart of a tongue against his lips and the blush rising in his cheeks while his eyelids half-lowered with desire. Armitage looked both beautiful and dangerous, like he was preparing to devour Ben whole. Ben loved it.

“You — you’re wearing — I can’t believe —” For once, Armitage was at a loss for words. Ben only nodded and reached for Armitage’s hand. He guided it over his chest, which was covered only in a bralette made of pastel pink lace. Armitage ran his hand over Ben’s pec, feeling the delicate texture of the lace, thumb flicking at his nipple. He tried to speak again and was marginally more successful. “Are you wearing the — the panties too?” His voice had lowered to barely audible whisper.

Ben grinned and tugged at his belt. He shimmied his pants down to mid-thigh to reveal that Armitage’s guess had been correct. The lacy pink thong wasn’t entirely successful in holding down Ben’s growing erection, which protruded from the top of the waistband. Ben shuddered as Armitage brought his other hand down to cup his package. He swiped a finger along the tip of Ben’s leaking dick and made a show of sucking Ben’s pre-cum from it.

When Armitage sank to his knees in front of Ben and began mouthing at his cock through the lace, Ben felt his legs weaken and was very glad for the grab bars on the wall behind him. “Wait…” Ben managed to croak out as Armitage’s tongue flicked at the head of his dick. Armitage got up and took a step back, concern written across his face. “N-nothing bad,” Ben stammered. “Just… there’s more.”

He turned to face the wall, pushing his pants down around his ankles so that he could spread his legs further. Bending at the waist, he tilted his ass toward Armitage. Ben reached one hand back to pull the thong aside. There, sticking out of his tight little pucker, was a pink silicone loop. The rest of the toy was deep inside him and had been causing him to squirm all morning with both pleasure and anticipation.

“You didn’t…” breathed Armitage in disbelief. Ben felt the coolness of Armitage’s hands on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart, and smiled. Armitage always had cold hands and feet.

“I did it for you,” Ben rumbled. “Do you like it?”

“What do you think?” Armitage responded. Before Ben had time to answer, there was the feeling of Armitage’s tongue lapping at his hole, and Ben forgot how to use words entirely. Instead, he let out a little moan.

Armitage placed a gentle kiss against Ben’s pucker before pulling on the loop, slowly but firmly. Ben felt the toy move, the first egg reaching his rim. Armitage eased it out until the widest point of the egg was at Ben’s entrance and held it there. Ben relaxed his muscles, feeling the exquisite stretch. Armitage wiggled the toy in and out, fucking Ben with it. Finally, he stopped his teasing and let the egg slip loose.

“Eggs. How seasonally appropriate,” remarked Armitage as he batted at the newly freed egg, pink and dangling between Ben’s legs. The movement caused the attached eggs still inside Ben to shift, brushing up against his prostate. Relishing the sensation, he swiveled his hips in a circular motion and heard a startled yelp.

Ben turned to find Armitage giggling on the floor. “You… you whacked me in the face with your egg,” he choked out between gasping laughs. Ben started to apologize, but Armitage held up a hand to stop him. “No, I’m fine. It just surprised me, but I know how you can make it up to me.” He grinned wickedly.

“Face the wall. Hands on the railing. Legs spread. Ass out,” Armitage instructed. Ben readily complied, tossing his shoes and pants in the corner. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of the thong and slid it off, adding the sheer scrap of fabric to the pile.

Ben should have felt ridiculous bent over in a church bathroom in his socks, a sex toy half-inserted in him, but it was so hot that Armitage was barking out orders like some sort of military officer. He added that to his mental list of future roleplay scenarios: bartender, harem dancer, alien creature, and now, military officer. Maybe one day he would be brave enough to tell Armitage about it.

A sharp slap on the ass interrupted his thoughts, again jiggling the eggs and sending a jolt of pleasure up Ben’s body. “I asked you a question. How many more eggs are… inside?” Armitage’s voice hitched.

“Two.”

Ben felt Armitage gently petting the area he had just spanked. “Good,” he murmured. “I want to watch you lay them.”

Ben grinned and wiggled his ass. He had prepared — no, _hoped_ — for this response. “Yeah baby, I’ll be your Easter bunny.”

“Less talking, more eggs.” And then Armitage’s hands were on Ben, spreading his cheeks for a better view at his hole, which was currently clutching around the flexible rod that connected the eggs.

Ben bore down, tightened his muscles, and pushed. The second egg, this one a pastel green color, began to breach his opening. He felt the stretch as the egg’s largest point exited him, then relief as it slipped out.

“Good boy. One more egg,” said Armitage.

The third and final egg, sky-blue in color, was peeking out from Ben’s hole when Armitage slapped Ben’s ass again. Startled, Ben clenched, and the egg disappeared back inside him.

Ben whirled around. “Hey, what was that for? I almost had it.”

Armitage held up his hands in mock surrender. He had schooled his face into a neutral expression, but his eyes still twinkled mischievously. “Sorry, I was just trying to make this last longer. I don’t want to go back to that sermon.”

Taking a step forward, Ben placed his hands on Armitage’s shoulders. “Babe, why not stay here until it’s over? I brought lube.” He winked.

“You planned this,” Armitage pointed an accusing finger at Ben, though his voice held more amusement than venom. “The lingerie, the lube, the eggs…” He bit his lower lip. “You were planning to seduce me. At Brendol’s church. On Easter Sunday.”

“Oh come on, Armitage. You say it like it’s a huge sin. Well, it probably is, but you hate this church. It’s got nothing but bad memories for you, and I just wanted to give you a good one. Is that so bad?”

“No, it’s not so bad,” said Armitage, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Ben’s neck. “And neither are you.” They kissed, softly at first, and then with increasing passion as Armitage backed Ben up against the bathroom wall, gripping his hair in one hand and his ass in the other.

Ben had all but forgotten about the egg still inside him until Armitage’s finger nudged up against the toy. He could feel Armitage smiling impishly even as they continued to kiss. The finger circled his hole, and even though Ben knew what was about to happen, he still gasped as it breached him, wriggling its way in and pressing the egg against his prostate.

“Mmm… Imagine fucking me while I’m full of eggs,” Ben thought, moving his mouth to nibble on Armitage’s earlobe.

To Ben’s horror, Armitage responded. “It would be such a tight fit. I’d feel them bumping up against me on every thrust.”

“Oh crap, I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

Armitage’s breath was hot against Ben’s neck. “You can tell me your desires, Ben. Who knows? I might be up for trying some of them.”

Ben nodded, too enthusiastically. “I… I bookmarked a gelatin egg mold. Would you be up for that?”

“Hell yes,” said Armitage, moving the finger he had inside Ben to double-tap the egg. “Now lay this egg so we can fuck.”

Over his shoulder, Ben watched Armitage fetch the bottle of lube from the pocket of Ben’s discarded pants. Armitage lowered his own pants and briefs and slicked up his erect cock, his eyes never leaving Ben, who was dutifully pushing out the last egg. Ben imagined being full of an alien’s clutch and having to expel it. He had no idea how he’d ever work up the courage to tell that part of the fantasy to Armitage, but that could wait. He bent his knees and arched his back. His hole stretched open and released the final egg. The toy fell to the bathroom floor with a slightly wet _thwack_.

Armitage was on him in an instant, rubbing lube sloppily against his hole and pressing kisses to the back of his neck. Two of Armitage’s fingers easily sank into him, spreading the slick against his walls. When Armitage started plunging them in and out, Ben whined. “Fuck me already. Give me your creme filling.”

Armitage scoffed but withdrew his fingers. “Please never say ‘creme filling’ during sex again.”

“What? It’s an Easter jo — ohhhhh…” Ben’s retort turned into a long moan as the head of Armitage’s dick entered him. Armitage gave a few shallow thrusts, then grunted as he slowly pushed his way in to the hilt. Ben pressed his forehead against the cool bathroom wall, savoring the feeling of being stuffed full. He rocked back into Armitage rhythmically, tilting his hips so that each thrust hit the perfect spot inside him.

One of Armitage’s hands, the one that was slimy with lube, gripped Ben’s hip. Ben winced involuntarily, but he didn’t actually mind. He relished the additional closeness and reached a hand back to grab Armitage’s ass, forcing Armitage to thrust deeper. He guided Armitage’s other hand up his torso, over the hard ridges of his stomach, to the muscular swell of his chest, which was still covered in soft lace. Through the thin fabric, Armitage pinched at Ben’s nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Bite me,” Ben whispered, tossing his hair to one side to bare the side of his neck. Armitage obliged, peppering the exposed skin with alternating kisses and nibbles. “Harder,” Ben begged, giving no clues as to whether he was referring to the biting or the thrusting.

“Aren’t you needy,” Armitage quipped, but he gave Ben what he wanted, pounding into him vigorously while latching onto his neck with his teeth. With so many sensations surrounding him — the perfect fit of Armitage’s dick in his ass, the delicious pain of Armitage’s bite, the slide of lace as Armitage twisted his nipple — Ben was quickly approaching climax.

He swiped some of the excess lube from Armitage’s hand. It had started to dry and felt a little tacky, but it was better than nothing. He stroked his dick with long, fluid motions, thumbing across the head. Ben was never sure whether Armitage’s dick grew harder as he approached climax or whether it was his own walls tightening, but he suspected it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it felt incredible.

“Fuck,” Armitage grunted, just a second before his pace faltered. Ben could feel Armitage’s cum spurting deep into his ass. It was good, but it wasn’t enough.

“I’m close, so close,” Ben whined as Armitage pulled out. He needed more. He pumped his fist faster. Then Armitage’s soft tongue was lapping at his sensitive hole, slurping up his own seed. Ben shut his eyes tightly, concentrating on the sensation and the obscenely wet noises.

The last thing Ben was aware of before his orgasm overtook him was Armitage murmuring “my delicious creme-filled Easter bunny” against his entrance between licks.

Ben collapsed onto his hands and knees, a sweaty, fucked-out mess. He nuzzled at Armitage, who was petting his hair. The first words out of his mouth after he caught his breath were, “Didn’t you say not to say ‘creme filling’ during sex?”

“I changed my mind,” huffed Armitage. “Hey what did you want to do about your eggs?” He picked the aforementioned toy up off the floor, holding it daintily by the loop using his thumb and forefinger.

Ben raised himself off the floor and shrugged. “Put ‘em in my pocket?”

“You didn’t want to put them back… inside?” Armitage cast a shy glance downward at Ben’s ass that Ben found endearing, considering that only moments before, both his dick and his face had taken turns being buried in that ass.

Ben shook his head, the sweaty strands of hair sticking uncomfortably to his neck and forehead. “Nah, I’m gonna give it a rest. At least until we get home.” He grinned and winked.

Unfortunately for Ben and Armitage, they arrived back in the lobby just after the sermon concluded. Churchgoers crowded the entire area, chatting and wishing each other a happy Easter. Small children ran around underfoot, releasing their pent-up energy.

They had almost reached the door when a familiar voice boomed out from behind them. “Armitage, where were you?” It was Brendol.

“I— Ben needed to use the restroom, and we didn’t want to disturb anyone when we returned, so we —”

“No,” Ben interrupted, draping his arm around Armitage’s shoulder. “No more lies. We skipped the sermon because your church is a purveyor of hatred and bigotry. We’re proud gay men, and we won’t stand for this.”

Brendol looked to his son. “Armitage…” he growled in warning. “Are you trying to embarrass me?” He dropped his voice to a dangerous whisper. “You know I’m up for re-election as a church elder this year. Think very carefully before you answer.”

Armitage tried to ignore him and make a beeline for the exit, but Brendol grabbed his arm so violently that it whirled him around. “You should be embarrassed!” Armitage spat. Ben stood slack-jawed, watching his normally prim and proper boyfriend launch into a tirade. “You care about your bullshit beliefs more than you care about your son! I was 15, Dad — 15! And you forced me to lie so, what, so that you could gain power? Followers of a loving God, my ass!”

The people around them were starting to stare. “And speaking of my ass,” Armitage continued shouting as he pulled the multi-colored sex toy out of his pocket and waved it around in the air, “I’m going to shove these eggs up my perky gay ass when I get home, and then get fucked by my boyfriend! Happy fucking Easter!” Armitage grabbed Ben, and they set off toward their car at a quickened pace.

“You’re not welcome at this church anymore!” Brendol roared in their wake, shaking his fist in the air. “I’ll call the cops if you ever come back!”

Ben and Armitage giggled and celebrated all the way to their car, adrenaline flowing through their veins. “So…” said Ben as he unlocked the door. “Did you mean what you said about the eggs?”


End file.
